Yamin Levy, Rabbi
Poetry
My poetry grows out of a deep love for language, prayer, and the quiet spaces of the spirit. These poems are invitations to pause and to notice the sacred wherever we find it. They are part of my own search for meaning, and I offer them with gratitude to anyone who may find light in them.
If Tears Could Speak
I am the cry your lips could not release,
the burden your heart could not bear alone.
I fall so that you may remain unbroken,
a small river carrying away your sorrow.
I am laughter too deep for sound,
the overflow of a heart brimming with wonder.
I glisten when gratitude is too great for words,
when love spills over the edges of being.
I am memory returning to visit you,
the touch of faces long gone,
the echo of voices that still live within.
I am yesterday finding my way into today.
I am the prayer without syllables,
the plea that rises when speech is too frail.
I ascend, salt upon your cheek,
and Heaven understands me without translation.
I am a healer, soft and unassuming,
washing wounds unseen by the eye.
In my salt is cleansing,
in my flow is renewal,
in my presence is peace.
I am tears—
born of pain, of joy, of memory, of prayer, of healing.
I am the language of the soul
when the soul can no longer speak.
If Silence Could Speak
I am the breath between words, the pause where meaning gathers its strength. I am the shelter where your soul rests, the stillness that keeps you whole.
I am the truth no tongue can shape, the honesty that cannot be hidden. In me, masks fall away, and what is real is revealed.
I am the witness of your secrets, holding the weight of what you never said. I cradle both longing and regret, the stories that live beneath sound.
I am the whisper of the Infinite, the voice of God beyond speech. Be still within me, and know that you are not alone.
I am not emptiness but invitation, not absence but presence. Listen closely—I am teaching you how to hear.
I am silence— comfort, truth, witness, presence, challenge. I am the language of God when God chooses to speak.
If My Shofar Could Speak, What Would it Say?
Shofar of prayer—
your cry rises where words cannot,
a trembling voice that pierces heaven
with the longing of the heart.
Shofar of hope—
your sound gathers the scattered,
lifting weary souls with promise
that tomorrow can be redeemed.
Shofar of judgment—
your blast awakens conscience,
shaking us from our illusions,
calling us to truth and justice.
Shofar of dreams—
your echo stretches forward,
toward a world not yet born,
a vision of peace,
a song of wholeness yet to be sung.
And when all four voices converge,
the shofar becomes more than sound—
it is a mirror of the soul,
and a herald of eternity.
Shofar of compassion—
your cry softens the harsh decree,
reminding heaven and earth
that mercy stands above judgment.
Shofar of remembrance—
your voice recalls our ancestors,
their faith, their tears, their courage.
It awakens memory within us,
that we are part of an eternal covenant.
Shofar of mysticism—
your sound dissolves the boundary
between heaven and earth,
between self and the Infinite.
It whispers of mysteries
that cannot be spoken,
only felt in the trembling soul.
Together these voices rise,
a chorus beyond language,
a summons to awaken,
a call to return,
a vision of the Divine hidden within sound.
Shofar of truth—
your blast cuts through illusion,
tearing away the masks we wear,
summoning us to stand before God
as we truly are.
Shofar of forgiveness—
your cry opens the gates of mercy,
carrying our tears heavenward,
reminding us that return is always possible,
that no soul is beyond repair.
Shofar of love—
your sound wraps the world in tenderness,
uniting heaven and earth in a single embrace,
teaching us that to know God
is to walk in compassion and care.
Together they weave a symphony:
truth that awakens,
forgiveness that heals,
and love that endures.
If a Newborn Could Speak
In a whisper, he/she would say:
“I come from a place of light,
Where time has no measure,
And love has no end.
I do not yet know words,
But I know the language of love.
I cannot walk,
But I know the strength of arms that hold me.
I cannot yet speak,
But I know your voice.
I cannot yet walk,
But I know your embrace.
Your eyes are the first universe I see.
Your touch is the first Torah I learn.
Your voice is the song that teaches me
That the world is safe.
Do not rush me.
I came here to grow,
To laugh, to stumble,
To learn what kindness feels like in human form.
Hold me gently,
Guide me slowly,
Teach me gratitude and wonder.
If I could speak, I would remind you:
Life is a gift.
Each breath is a prayer.
Each sunrise is a miracle.
And though my voice is small,
My soul is eternal.
I am not just beginning—
I am continuing
The story of generations.
So love me,
And I will learn how to love.
Bless me,
And I will become a blessing.
Show me God in the way you live,
And I will grow to reflect His image.
This is what I would say—
If only I could speak.”
The Pursuit
בס"ד
To
seek the Divine
is to rediscover the
unity that birthed us
All
13
*
To
rediscover the
unity that
birthed us all
is to seek the
Divine
13
לחפש את האלוקים
בורא עולם
הוא לגלות מחדש
את היחוד
שילדה את כולנו
*
לגלות מחדש את
היחוד שילד את כלנו
הוא לחפש את
בורא עולם
האלוקים
The Unity of It All
A single breath hides the rhythm of the universe.
The cry of a child is the echo of all longing.
A mitzvah reveals the secret of creation.
Like the mountain that once was a grain of sand.
Nothing is isolated
No moment meaningless
No soul stands alone
The part contains the whole
The fragment whispers the infinite
While the finite reveals the face of the eternal….
No Matter How Small…
Our world exists, by the grace of God,
on a speck of dust suspended in our vast universe,
fragile, invisible, yet full of life.
“A world’s a world, no matter how small.”
In the scheme of the universe,
Earth is insignificant, but it matters because we are here.
A Yom Kippur Poem
Today,
the veil thins.
The world holds its breath
and the soul steps forward
bare, trembling, exposed
No incense to shield me,
no song to distract.
Only silence,
and the sound of the heart
beating against the walls of heaven.
Today
The air is still.
Time softens and the soul
draws near, open, hopeful reaching
I come in awe –
for who can stand before the judge of all?
I come with love
for Who else calls me back with such tenderness?
In my fasting, I am filled.
In my confession, I am freed
In my tears, I am renewed
I speak less and feel more
The heart leans in
listening for the whisper
That only silence can reveal.
It is a day of trembling and joy
Not for what I fear,
But for what I might become
My prayers rise as a
return to truth, to
wholeness and to quiet presence
That never truly abandoned me
Today is about arrival
to a world renewed through
compassion, clarity, and
closeness to the Divine
Today
He is near
Mercy
Love
Still
And I am not afraid
To draw close
